


Ghost

by assassinslover



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, gender neutral Wyman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9789437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinslover/pseuds/assassinslover
Summary: Emily's keen eyes see everything, including a handful of familiar faces.And there, at the end of the room in front of a giant map of Dunwall, frowning with red hair in a messy bun and a captain's jacket thrown over a rumpled shirt, is a ghost.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puppyanimagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppyanimagus/gifts).



> Because Brit and I did headcanons and amongst them was the Empress of the Isles barging across the room and literally knocking Alexi over.

Emily thought her return to Dunwall would fill her with joy, but little was accomplished in Karnaca – little of importance, at least – and the familiar city skyline growing on the horizon brings her nothing but a bitter pain in her heart, one she's grown more and more accustomed to over the last few weeks. She would have stayed longer, done more, but their presence was being noticed and it had swiftly become unsafe for Emily to remain. Foster had given her little choice in the matter. The ship feels large and lonely, and her home has never felt so far away.

Foster anchors the ship a safe distance away from the main port, at a smaller, less used dock that barely fits its girth. Emily suspects its more a smuggler's dock than anything else – it's clearly unsuited for larger ships, but small vessels could slip in and out with ease. The noise of the Dreadful Wale's engines slowly fade into silence. Emily stands at the prow, her hands hanging over the railing, unmoving. There aren't many lights here. Emily's eyes play tricks on her in the darkness, creating shadows where she knows there are none.

She hears Meagan's boots on the deck behind her. “You shouldn't be out in the open,” she says. “People are watching.” Emily doesn't reply. “Suit yourself. Stay here. I have someone I need to meet.” Emily watches her go, her form slowly swallowed up by the fog that's rolling in off the sea. She should go back to her cabin, perhaps finish her latest journal entry, but she wants the fresh air and the comforting scents of home, as disgusting as they may be. This far away from the port, however, all she can really smell is the sea mingling with smoke from the houses and shops along the street.

She thumbs her ring, heavy and solid on her finger. To everyone else it's a symbol, but to Emily it's something more; a memory, from the first time it was placed in her possession when she was sixteen and officially recognized as Empress. A mass of people had crowded into the throne room for the ceremony, but only two faces among them had mattered. Now her father is turned to stone by some kind of witchcraft and Alexi... Alexi is dead.

Emily's hand shakes as she lifts it, pressing her ring to her mouth as her jaw tightens against a wave of tears. When their eyes had met across that crowded room Alexi had given her a smile, one meant only for her. It was barely there, only a slight turning up at the corners of her mouth, but it had made Emily's heart race. Thankfully there had been enough make up on her face to hide her blush. Even if her reaction had been visible, the court would have thought it was for Wyman, who stood close by. Wyman who had given Emily a knowing wink and a smug smile that made her wish she could wrinkle her nose and stick out her tongue. Wyman had only been eighteen, but was rich and intelligent and a more than suitable match. It benefited both of them to pretend, leaving Emily free to pursue her and Alexi's anxious and awkward courtship and letting Wyman do... whatever it was Wyman did when they weren't teasing Emily about how much of a silver fox her father was. Things had been simpler then.

Now, nine years later, Emily would give anything to go back to the way things were.

Lost in her thoughts, the passage of time eluded her. The light in the sky hasn't changed much, but Emily can see the way the shadows had shifted, and she begins to worry after Meagan, for no good reason as the captain is more than capable of taking care of herself. When the shadows in front of her move, however, and take on a human form, Emily's hand moves to her sword.

A raised hand greets her, dark skin shining in the light from a street lamp. Meagan. Emily drops her hand. She doesn't know the man with Meagan but she recognizes his uniform, as untidy as it is. He's at least ten years her senior and looks haggard and tired, the shadows under his eyes deep. He still salutes sharply when his feet touch the deck.

“We've been searching for you, Empress,” he says in a raspy voice.

“Who's we?” Emily asks and looks at Meagan.

“The resistance.”

Emily laughs humourlessly. “Resistance?”

“Yes,” the soldier says. “My name is Edmund. A handful of us escaped the massacre and we've been hiding underground ever since. Our captain will want to see you.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” Emily asks.

“You can trust _me_ ,” Meagan interjects. “This man is part of my network. It's fortunate he survived, and more fortunate he managed to get a message to us when we were in range. You need all the help you can get.”

Her mother said she can trust Meagan, to a point. It could be a trap, but what reason would Meagan have to send her to her death? She's never cared for profit.

“We must go now, my lady, before it grows too light,” Edmund says.

“My things-” Emily starts.

“Grab what you need but do it quick,” Meagan says. “I can't leave the Wale here much longer.” Cautious, Emily makes haste to her cabin. She ignores things that aren't hers and quickly collects her journal and the stash of letters she saved from the safe room before she fled then secures her pouch of coins to her belt before finally pulling on her coat. As she straightens the collar she remembers Alexi's hands on her shoulders, smoothing out invisible wrinkles as an excuse to touch her. It suddenly becomes very hard to breathe. Emily braces herself on the desk as her heart painfully contracts. The tension in her jaw travels down through her arms to her closed fists. She hits the desk hard enough to knock the lamp over and shoves it to the floor. The bulb shatters with a pop.

Emily exhales sharply and crouches down to clean up the mess. When she slits her palm on a shard of glass she hardly feels it. She finds a rag amongst the crates and bags that are pressed against the wall and ties it tightly around her hand, then picks up her bag and leaves. Neither Meagan nor Edmund have moved when she comes back on deck, and neither of them say a word about her hand.

“I'm ready,” she says.

Edmund nods. “This way, Your Majesty.” Emily follows after him, pausing by Meagan's side. The captain puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes once. Emily moves past her and down the gang plank. Edmund takes the lead. Emily follows close and wishes she had eyes in the back of her head. They slip down into tunnels, an old sewer system drained when Emily was still a child. They both have to stoop to avoid hitting their heads and Emily wrinkles her nose at the lingering smell. The tunnels are covered in rats that scurry away when they grow too close and shapes that could be humans who do the same. Every so often a lantern burns, providing faint but needed light. They walk until Emily's feet start to ache, taking so many twists and turns that it's difficult for her to keep track of them all, but she does.

Eventually they take a rusty, unsteady ladder back up to the surface. It creaks ominously under Emily's weight but holds. It's a relief to be able to breathe again, even if the air is less than clean. She cranes her head back, trying to determine which part of the city she's in then she sniffs and she can smell it. Booze, and the stink of the Wrenhaven.

“Where are we going?” Emily asks. “Not the Cat.”

“No,” Edmund says, “too obvious. There's a handful of connected, condemned buildings near the old Distillery. We've set up in the basement of one. It's secure for now, but there's half a dozen easy ways out if that changes.” Through a gap in the brick around them Emily catches a glimpse of a yellow sign reading “whiskey.”

“So, who is this captain of yours?” Emily asks.

Edmund gives her a secretive smile very much like the one Alexi reserved only for her. “You'll want to see for yourself, I imagine,” he replies. “Not much further now.” All the buildings look the same, and most of them are boarded up, locked, or otherwise closed off. Edmund stops in front of one that looks no different from the others and raps out a code on the door. A thin, hidden window slides open. Suspicious eyes peer out.

“Password,” he growls.

“Lilies,” Edmund replies. Emily's brow furrows. _What kind of password is “lilies?”_ she thinks. The window slides shut and the door swings open. It's the only thing about the building that looks new; strong, sturdy metal instead of wood. “This way, my lady.” Emily follows Edmund inside to a dimly lit hallway. The doorman bows stiffly then goes back to cleaning his pistol. It looks nothing like a military headquarters, just an abandoned house with bits of old furniture and things left behind. They pass the kitchen and the powder room, both clean but looking scarcely used, to a door at the back of the stairs. Edmund pulls a key from his uniform and slips it into the lock. The bolt clunks and the door opens. Edmund gestures for Emily to go first. She hesitates, watching him with narrowed eyes, then slowly moves forward. He follows and pulls the door shut behind him, sliding the bolt back into place.

The basement itself is well lit and spacious, old wine racks having been shoved aside or broken down for fuel and furniture. It's... crowded, surprisingly, but no one has noticed her yet. Emily can hear low voices, mostly serious, but with the occasional laugh here and there. The walls are covered in posters and flyers and the tables in documents and maps and plates of food and drink. Half empty bottles are passed from hand to hand as both soldiers and common men and women bend over their work. Emily's keen eyes see everything, including a handful of familiar faces.

And there, at the end of the room in front of a giant map of Dunwall, frowning with red hair in a messy bun and a captain's jacket thrown over a rumpled shirt, is a ghost.

Emily goes weak at the knees and has to steady herself with a hand against the cold stone wall. It can't be possible. Emily _saw_ Ramsey stab her, _saw_ her die, Emily had her _blood on her hands –_

“Captain,” Edmund says behind her, loud enough to carry, “she's here.”

Watch Captain Alexi Mayhew turns towards the stairs, one hand on the hilt of the short sword at her hip, and smiles. “Your Majesty. I'm so glad you're home safe.” Emily's resolve, already precarious, crumbles. It's not befitting of an empress to dash recklessly across a room, but Emily is far beyond caring. The snap of her coat behind her blows papers off tables. She trips over a stool someone doesn't quite manage to move out of the way in time but catches her balance even as it clatters to the ground behind her. It's only seconds but it might as well be hours before she's collided with Alexi, forcing the captain back several steps before Emily's momentum topples them to the ground. The bottle and glasses that are stacked on a crate by the map wall fall with them, the glass shattering but the bottle simply spilling. The sharp scent of whiskey fills the air. Someone quickly moves to clean up the mess, but Emily can only hear their cursing and hurried footsteps. Her face is buried in Alexi's chest, their limbs awkwardly sprawled.

She smells exactly the same, down to the last lingering traces of soap clinging to her skin. Well, almost exactly the same. Emily knows the soap she uses, and the smell of her sweat and the natural scent of her skin under that, but she smells of whiskey, too, and of smoke and the cold damp that permeates the cellar. She _feels_ exactly the same. Emily knows every line of Alexi's body as well as she does her own. Nothing is different. She's alive and warm and solid beneath Emily and she can't help but laugh, although it comes out more like a sob. She wraps herself around Alexi with the intent of never letting go, not without being forced to.

A hand settles on the small of her back. “I can't breathe,” Alexi says. Emily scrambles to her feet, dusting off the front of her shirt and pants. Alexi gets herself up before Emily can offer to help. Alexi casts an embarrassed eye over the men and women watching them. She was never able to hide her blushing. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private?” she asks softly.

Emily blushes in turn. Their spectators quickly look away, but the air has a distinct tension to it. “Yes,” Emily says. “We have much to discuss.”

“Edmund,” Alexi says, “I am not to be disturbed until you're told otherwise. You're in command.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Edmund says and steps up to take Alexi's place.

“Come with me,” Alexi says quietly, her voice for Emily's ears only. “We can talk upstairs.”

Alexi's room is on the top floor of the house, just shy of the attic. It's messy, as Alexi's room has always been. A desk is shoved into the corner and covered with papers and more of the advertisements and posters that pepper the walls in the basement. A typewriter sits precariously on one side. The dresser is covered in used glasses and empty bottles and the bed clothes are half off the mattress. Alexi makes a show of cleaning up what she can, shuffling papers into tidy piles and loading a tray with the glasses and bottles, which she hurriedly puts on the floor outside the door before shutting it and latching the bolt.

And then there's silence. Emily can't stop looking. Alexi doesn't look any different, more tired perhaps, but still the same as she always was. Even with a new sharpness to her eyes and shadows under them she looks the same.

“How are you alive?” Emily asks. It's rude, but she doesn't care. She's always been able to be honest with Alexi and she doesn't see why that should change now. “I saw – you died in front of me. I don't understand how you're here.”

“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” Alexi says. She rummages through a cabinet and comes out with a pair of clean glasses and a half full bottle. She pours out a two thumbs of whiskey for each of them and passes Emily her glass. She downs it in one go and coughs at the burn. “Will you sit?” Alexi asks, pulling the desk chair out. Emily doesn't move. Alexi sighs in frustration, and it's so familiar and welcome and Emily's knees tremble, but she refuses the seat.

“I need to know what happened,” she says, her voice as unsteady as her legs. “I need to know how you're here standing in front of me when I saw you die.”

“I don't remember all of it,” Alexi says. “Most of it, really.” She sips at her whiskey, jaw tensing. “I woke up and you were gone. The letter I had for you was gone, your father's sword, too. It was quiet. There's a dozen ways out of the tower. I found one – I don't know how, it's all a blur – and got out.” She turns away, leaning her brow against one of the boards over the bedroom window, spaced to let in only slivers of precious light. A faint yellow glow falls over her eyes. “Edmund found me in a tunnel leading to one of the safe houses. He took me to a surgeon, one that didn't ask questions.” She touches her stomach. “He stitched me up well, but said it was my own will that kept me alive.” She turns a sad smile on Emily. “I guess I couldn't give up until I put you back on your throne.”

She faced Emily fully once more, ankles crossed and arms over her chest. “When I was well enough Edmund and I rounded up everyone we could find and set up our base here. We've been making moves against Delilah ever since. Now that you're here I'm confident we'll be able to move forward. There are plenty of people still loyal to you. The only thing that's keeping them down is fear.”

To her own surprise, Emily laughs. It's a weak, strained thing, but it makes her smile for the first time in weeks. “Are you saying you survived out of spite?”

The corners of Alexi's mouth tun up. “You could say that.” Emily slumps against the locked door behind her. “Another drink?” Alexi asks. This time, Emily agrees. Alexi puts her own glass down and brings the bottle to her. Her hand cups Emily's as she raises it and the glass its holding to pour. Emily holds her breath, like she's never been this close to Alexi before. Alexi's fingers stroke the back of her hand before she pulls away and crosses the room to put the bottle on the desk. Emily longs to follow, but something stops her.

Alexi leans against the desk. “What's wrong?” she asks.

“That's a big question,” Emily replies. “I'm not sure I have an answer for you.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Emily asks. She knows she's staring but she doesn't know how.

“Like you can't believe I'm real.”

“Because I can't,” Emily says, softly shaking her head. “I can't.”

Alexi bites her lip gently. “Come here.” Ever so slowly, Emily crosses the room until she's toe to toe with Alexi. The captain reaches for her left hand, the one bearing her ring, hanging limply at her side. She presses Emily's palm to her cheek. “I'm real,” she says. Her skin is warm and soft. She turns into Emily's touch, lips parting and eyes closing.

Emily falls into her, cradling Alexi's face, their lips meeting in a passionate rush, and Emily thinks, _by the Outsider she tastes the same too_ , sweet with the harsh aftertaste of whiskey. Alexi wraps one arm firmly around her waist and holds her close enough that it feels like they're one person instead of two. Almost. In a rush Emily tugs her coat off her shoulders and lets it fall careless to the ground. It was nice, once, but its seen too much hard use since she fled Dunwall and she doesn't care for it now. All it is is a barrier between her and the woman in front of her. She shoves at Alexi's jacket until the captain nudges her hands aside and strips it off herself. She throws it somewhere across the room, where it lands with a dull thud. Emily's unoccupied hands seek out the bottom of Alexi's shirt and tug it out of her pants. She's stopped from lifting it up by Alexi's own hands, desperate to rid Emily of the rest of her clothes. Emily doesn't make it easy for her. She unbuttons Alexi's pants instead, letting her hands find the bare skin of her hips and thumbing the sharp jut of her bones. Alexi sighs into her mouth, a desperate sound. It's a desperation that Emily matches.

Her shirt is tugged roughly over her head, brassier following in swift succession. Alexi shoves Emily back, not roughly, and stares at her with her brown eyes blown black. “I almost forgot how beautiful you are,” she says softly. “How could I forget that?” Emily wordlessly reaching for her hand and pulls her towards the bed behind her. There's too much to say and not enough words to say them, but speaking isn't the only way her and Alexi communicate, and isn't the best way either. With her free hand Alexi tugs the tie from her hair and lets it fall around her shoulders and into her face. Emily's own, already haphazardly tied, easily comes loose under Alexi's wandering fingers. When Emily's knees knock against the edge of the mattress she runs her fingers through the auburn strands and surges forward to kiss Emily with enough force to put her on her back.

They fight with what clothes remain until only Alexi's shirt is left, brushing against her thighs and Emily's stomach, clinging to the curve of her sides and hips. Emily can guess why she's hesitant to remove it, but that doesn't change Emily's desire to have it gone. She explores with her hands first, resting them on Alexi's legs and slowly dragging them up, delighting in the shivers that pass through Alexi's body. Her fingertips reach the base of Alexi's flat, toned stomach first, just above the wiry red curls that cover her sex. Then they wander higher and find something new, something different; the edge of a scar, flesh soft and silky. Alexi tenses and draws in a sharp breath.

Emily flips them. Alexi makes a small noise in the back of her throat and looks up at Emily with a glint in her eyes, but Emily hasn't forgotten her task. Before Alexi can react Emily has her shirt pushed up to below her breasts, exposing the pale expanse of her stomach. Right in the middle, a straight line down the outline of her muscles, is a pink and white scar, mostly healed but still tender, the very edges the pale red of still healing flesh. Alexi doesn't move, but her breathing is strained. Emily doesn't drop her gaze from Alex's dark eyes as she delicately presses her lips to the scar.

“Emily...” Alexi sighs.

“I've missed that sound,” Emily says. “I never thought I would hear it again.”

“Emily,” Alexi whispers, threading her fingers into Emily's hair and cradling the back of her skull. “Emily.” A gentle kiss to her mouth. “Emily.” Another to her cheek. “Emily.” Alexi's breath ghosting across her ear sends a tremor down her whole body. She presses herself fully against her lover, only breaking desperate kisses to wrangle Alexi's shirt over her head. She crouches over Alexi like a lioness, hips and chests touching. Alexi's hands move down her hips, over the curve of her ass to squeeze and pull Emily even closer. Alexi swallows her groan.

Emily wants to take her time, to explore every inch of the body she knows so well, but more than anything she wants to feel Alexi again, in the most intimate of ways. A desire that she forgot she even had makes itself very well known as a burning hot ache between her thighs. And Alexi, Alexi who knows her so well... she doesn't waste any time. Emily might be on top, but she's not in control. She never has been. Alexi's short, blunt nails dig into the back of one of Emily's shoulders just as her other hand scrapes over Emily's stomach and down to where her sex throbs with need.

At the first touch her hips jerk forward and Alexi's hand slips to the side. They both laugh. It's an unfamiliar awkward sound like the both of them have forgotten how to. Emily shifts her hips to put Alexi's hand back and her body picks up the old rhythm, rolling into Alexi's touch. Their kisses turn sloppy with desperation. Emily's body is coiled too tightly to last, and she doesn't, coming undone in a shivering, shuddering mess under Alexi's talented fingers. Were the two of them alone in the Twoer she would let her cries of pleasure echo freely, but here she buries her face in the crook of Alexi's neck and croons against her sweat-damp flesh. She's not sure why she's shaking so badly, if it's just the intensity of her pleasure or something more, but she can hardly hold herself up. Her mind drives her on, though, despite how weak she suddenly feels.

It's easy to let her weight settle on top of Alexi and slide down, kissing every inch she can on the way. Her lips brush over a hard, pink nipple. Alexi gasps and clutches the back of her head and it's all Emily can do to not moan. She flicks her tongue across the bud then moves down again, one destination in mind. The scar halts her progress. She leans up on her elbows to look at it, one hand braced on Alexi's hip.

“Em,” Alexi says softly.

“I want to see it,” Emily says. Alexi doesn't protest, but her body doesn't relax, either. Emily traces the outline of the mark with a fingertip. Alexi trembles under her. It pains Emily to see it, the leftovers of the blow that almost took Alexi from her. That she thought _had_ taken Alexi from her. She kisses the silky skin and fights back a wave of tears that tense her jaw and make her nose twitch and scrunch. Alexi's hands thread gently through her hair.

“I promise I'm real. Feel me, Emily. I'm real.”

Emily grips her hips tightly and buries her face firmly between Alexi's thighs. She tastes as sharp and musky as she always did. Emily pulls moans from deep in Alexi's throat with long, careful strokes of her tongue. Alexi's thighs clench around her head. Emily's muffled hearing picks up a noise that sounds almost like a sob but when she tries to lift her head Alexi's hands keep it where it is. Alexi doesn't moan, no, but she exhales sharply as her back arches and her nails dig into Emily's scalp. Her hips tighten then relax under Emily's grip. Emily laps lazily until Alexi pushes her head away only to pull her up for a sticky kiss.

Emily smiles and then laughs softly, gazing into Alexi's eyes. They're still dark, but she can see brown creeping in around the edge of her pupil. Alexi's face breaks out into a smile.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Emily asks.

“Because you're so beautiful,” Alexi replies.

Emily feels herself blush. “I look terrible, Lex. You must be blind.”

Alexi passes a hand over her cheek, thumb tracing along bone. “Then love has blinded me,” she says, “because I've never seen you look more beautiful.” Face still hot, Emily lets her head fall to rest on Alexi's chest, reassuring herself with the firm beat of her lover's heart under her ear, still fast, but growing steady. A hand trails down her spine, tracing old scars and searching for new ones.

“What do we do now?” Emily asks, though it's not a question she wants to voice.

“We fight,” Alexi says.

“It's not that easy,” Emily replies. “I failed in Karnaca, Lex. I couldn't find anything to help me kill Delilah.”

“Then we'll have to go back, won't we?”

Emily lifts her head. “We?” she asks incredulously.

“Don't think for a second I'm going to let you out of my sight again,” Alexi says, everything about her serious. “Never again.” Normally Emily would feel indignant – she's more than capable of taking care of herself, after all – but in the moment she shares Alexi's sentiments. She doesn't ever want to be parted from her. Ever.

“So we have to go back,” Emily says. “Meagan won't be happy.”

“She'll do it, though,” Alexi says. “For you.”

“Like you?”

“I would do anything for you. Foster is limited. But she'll do this, and this time we'll find something.” She strokes Emily's hair. “I promise. I'll send Edmund to talk to the captain in the morning.”

“And until then?” Emily asks, and finds herself on her back, startled and breathless with a grinning Alexi hovering over her.

“Until then I don't plan on letting you leave this bed.”

 


End file.
